The Empire

He builds His art into an empire, fashioned deftly with His tongue.
As His lyrics are created, raising buildings one by one.
These skyscrapers cover the horizon, obscuring any vision.
But it doesn’t matter what you see ‘cause all that you can do is listen.
As the sidewalk that you’re standing on is jolted in a roar,
And the words that follow knock you down and bolt you to the floor.
He lets loose a new verse and then adds it to the masses,
Then you see a form rise up, appearing tall and thin with glasses.
Where there had been only air now stands a human being.
You have to blink before you start believing what you’re seeing.
He walks towards you and extends a hand to help you to your feet.
And in his palm you feel the rhythm he was made to beat.
You turn and walk away with a new mindset and new passion,
Maybe this isn’t accident, maybe we were fashioned.
Maybe I have purpose and my life is art itself.
But I won’t hang on a wall and I won’t sit on a shelf.
I won’t be consumed by this world,
Or caught up in the wealth,
‘Cause my life is being shaped and held,
By the hands of something else.